


Killing Strangers

by InfernoPunk



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: M/M, Violence, horror movies, light dantexnero, some domestic fluff at the beginning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-27
Updated: 2015-06-30
Packaged: 2018-04-06 12:14:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4221336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InfernoPunk/pseuds/InfernoPunk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dante heads upstairs for the night. Nero doesn't. Title is in reference to a Marilyn Manson song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Demon Bullets Baby

Dante's hair is still shedding little droplets of water when he returns to his perch on the couch. He's clad in nothing but a pair of jeans and the cool air inside Devil May Cry feels nice on his freshly clean skin. Nero only turns his attention from the T.V. when Dante slings his legs over the kid's lap. He does nothing to protest, just lets his eyes wander over his roommate's body and directs them back at the movie.

"What's happening?" Dante asks watching as a flurry of images whips by on the screen.

"The kid saw the tape," Nero replies, absentmindedly ripping a hangnail from his human thumb.

"Shit, her son?" The blonde lady on the screen is clutching the child to her chest, looking hysterical.

"Yeah,"

It's Dante's first time seeing The Ring, not really being a huge fan of horror movies in the first place. He sees scary shit like that on a regular basis, so he doesn't really have any desire to spend his free time looking at more scary shit. But Nero likes it, so he humors him once in a while. Really though, a video tape that kills you in seven days? How about a six-legged demon that tries to kill you right now, cause Dante has dealt with those more times than he can count.

He's almost a little bit into the plot when there's a knock at the door. Before Nero has a chance to ask if he's expecting anyone, the elder hunter is already opening the door and ripping a pizza box out of the delivery boy's hands.

"That'll be 14.75," the kid stammers.

Dante grumbles something about a shakedown and reaches his free hand into his pocket. He pulls out a fistful of wadded dollar bills and practically throws them at him before slamming the door shut.

"But wait- this isn't-!" Comes a muffled protest but it falls on a pair of deaf ears.

"Jesus, Dante." Nero huffs and heaves himself off the couch. He opens the door and the delivery boy is still standing there looking lost. He takes his wallet out of his back pocket and pays him the difference as well as a generous tip which he hopes will act as a decent apology for his companion's dickish behavior. The boy splutters a quick 'thank you' and high-tails it to his car.

Dante is already stuffing the last half of a slice into his mouth and Nero wonders how he ever finds this idiot attractive.

"You want some?" He asks with a mouthful of food.

"No." He can't put his finger on it, but something on that pizza smells weird. Though he knows Dante will eat just about anything, especially if it's smothered in cheese, his own standards are a little higher.

"You shouldn't have given that dude your money." He hears Dante say behind him. He's only half listening as he resituates himself on the old couch. "It doesn't even taste that good."

You're still eating it, though. Nero thinks to himself.

Seemingly satisfied, four slices later, Dante returns to the movie. He sits with his legs dangling over an armrest and his head centered on Nero's lap. Said half-devil is too caught up in the famous crawling-out-of-the-T.V. scene to make a snappy comment. Dante looks up at his face- a weird grimace on his lips with his pale eyebrows knitted together.

"Is this actually scary to you?" He asks with a laugh as Samara slithers her way towards the photographer guy on screen.

"No," the smaller hybrid replies though the tormented look on his face never fades.

Dante snorts. "If that bitch tried to crawl out of my television, she'd have lead in her skull before she even made it all the way out."

"She's a ghost, what good would bullets do?"

"Demon bullets, Baby, demon bullets."

While Nero's certainly an incredibly strong creature for being only half devil, he knows he has nothing on Dante. He can charge a bullet with his demonic power but unlike his companion, he can't simply fabricate them with it.

It's only 8:20 when the credits roll and Nero's hopping up to put something else in.

"There's more?" Dante asks, disinterested. He'd been going along with the horror movie marathon since noon. He's thinking that sticking his head in the toilet sounds more appealing now than watching another two hours of bumbling white people make dumb decisions in perilous situations. Once you've seen one Scream you've seen them all. And these English remakes of foreign movies are just... awful.

"C'mon, it's The Grudge. It's good." The intro is already playing and he knows if he doesn't leave now he'll feel obligated to stay. "Don't tell me it's your bedtime already, old man."

Dante sighs through his nose and stands up, Nero's eyes on him. "Sorry, kid. I'm beat." He actually does mean that and going to bed a little early does sound pretty good. There's nothing like a day of doing nothing to help you rest easy.

"See you when you come up?" He offers.

"Yeah," Nero replies, his face a little sad.

A while later, Nero's still watching the movie. Kayako is creeping down the stairs, her limbs looking bent and entirely unnatural. He knows it's all fake obviously, but he still catches himself stealing a glance at the staircase to his left. He admits that ever since Dante went upstairs to do... whatever, he can't seem to shake the feeling that he's being watched. The tall, uncurtained windows of Devil May Cry don't help the feeling of exposure. Demon hunter or not, if he sees a face in one of those windows he's going to piss himself. He considers going up to Dante but it's hardly even nine o'clock yet and there's no way in hell that he's going to admit he's scared.

The halfbreed doesn't realize he's fallen asleep on the couch until he wakes up and the ceiling is moving above him. The T.V. is hissing static and the heels of his boots are dragging against the wood floor. He realizes in a panic that he's being dragged, by the hood of his jacket, no less, through the front door of Devil May Cry which is propped open for some reason. There's something tightening around his throat as he goes to scream. His breath is punched out of his lungs as his back slams into the steps outside- once. Twice. Three times, and now he feels gravel underneath him.

His eyes are darting around but it's nighttime and he just woke up and the light from his devil bringer is obscuring his vision because it's so fucking bright right now. He hears the click of a safety being switched off and then there's a silver barrel aimed just below his sternum. The hybrid knows that getting shot won't kill him since his healing abilities are incredibly efficient but it'll still hurt. And besides that, he's pissed off and scared and for once he admits that he's a little more scared than anything else. All of his weapons are up in Dante's room- all he has is his Devil Bringer and he's still disoriented, and anyway how is Dante not here already? No doubt he should have been able to hear the fucking doors open or the sound of Nero's body being dragged across the floor; at the very least he should be able to smell that Nero isn't inside anymore.

The constriction around Nero's throat tightens and his foggy vision blurs at the edges and he's struggling to get air into his lungs. He's choking on nothing when he hears the shot and pain rolls through his body like a tidal wave.

Though his arms are tingling and he can't really feel his fingers anymore, he brings his human hand up to meet the wound. Blood blooms up through his shirt and jacket. With faltering focus, Nero tries to will the bullet out of his skin so he can heal and stop the bleeding. When he feels warmth soak through the waistband of his pants though, he knows something's horribly wrong.

He's only slightly aware that his body is still moving against the ground because the sound of it is very far away and he can feel his deafening pulse pounding in his ears. Dante's voice comes to him then, "Demon bullets, Baby, demon bullets."

Nero becomes dead weight.


	2. Double-Dealing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dante feels off. Nero feels kinda off too.

After an hour and a half of lounging around in bed alone, Dante begins to think that Nero is punishing him for ditching the movie. He hadn't heard a sound from the T.V. in a while so he figures the movie's over. Maybe, he hopes, Nero just fell asleep on the couch. It makes sense, considering that was his bed when he first moved in. Dante sighs and stares up at the ceiling, fatigue begin to nag at him. He clears his throat for what feels like the thousandth time and wonders if he's getting sick. It's not unheard of after all. Despite having a stronger than normal immune system, the occasional virus catches him off guard after he's exerted himself for a while or exposed himself to harsh climates for too long. He'll sleep it off, he figures, and the congestion wearing him down will be gone.

When Dante wakes the next morning, his sinuses are clogged and his ears feel like they've been stuffed with cotton. Nero's not next to him either. The cold sheets on his side suggest that he got out of bed much earlier, or he never came up at all last night. He wonders for a moment if he should be worried about these things, but instead decides to be proactive and go downstairs to check on Nero himself and maybe take some Benadryl.

Standing upright sends a flush of nausea through the half-devil and he puts a hand to his temple to quell the dizzying feeling behind his eyes. For a moment he wonders if he was drinking last night and had somehow managed to forget but he's knows that's not the case. He's not hungover, he's just sick. Which sucks.

Nero's not on the couch either but the T.V. is on, broadcasting static to a vacant audience. "Fucking kid's gonna be paying my electric bill," Dante grumbles and switches it off. He's tired again after his trek down the stairs and he figures maybe sitting down for a moment will help him feel better. He's just been working himself too hard recently, he reasons.

Dante feels himself starting to drift off once his body settles onto the cushions and he lets it happen. If he focuses really hard he can almost smell Nero on the fabric and it's almost like he's here with him. He falls asleep to the image of Nero saying his name.

It's one of those naps that leaves you questioning where you are and what year it is when you wake up. His head is throbbing, his nose is stinging, and his eyes are burning. There's a smell wafting through Devil May Cry that makes him feel like he's suffocating. In his peripheral, Dante catches movement. Though he feels groggy, he turns to see what caught his eye.

It's Nero. At least, he thinks it is because the kid's face is obscured by the massive ball of white linen that he's carrying in his arms. The Probably-Nero disappears into the laundry room- a place Dante seldom visits, and returns, brushing lint off his jeans. He's dressed in his usual getup- a red jacket, blue coat, and jeans with leather thigh straps. It seems he never got as far as taking his boots off, either. His devil arm is shooting off this odd flickering, blue light.

"What are you doing?" The elder hunter asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"When was the last time you washed your sheets, Dante?" The answer comes dryly.

"Uhh,"

"That's disgusting, you know that? I also took it upon myself to clean up the rest of this place for you. Doesn't it look nice?"

He then makes the connection that the offensive smell is disinfectant as he looks over the inside of Devil May Cry. The wood floors are actually shining, the windows have been scrubbed. Dante thinks he'd be hard pressed to find a speck of dust anywhere in the vicinity. He's not really sure he's happy about that. And he's really not sure why Nero has suddenly taken it upon himself to rid their home of all its trademark stains and smells. He never had a problem with them in the past.

"Um, yeah. What's this about, Kid?"

He glances up and sees Nero standing over him, looking coy. Before he has time to ask about that too, he's being kissed and there's a devil arm fisting the material of his shirt. If the younger hybrid is trying to rile him up, he's all for it. As it stands, his relationship with Nero is rather open to interpretation. They've both expressed mutual interest but there was never a definitive decision on where to go from there. Sometimes Dante makes passes and Nero hisses and spits like a cat who's had its tail stepped on. Other times he's more open to affection, but those times are very few and far between. So if Nero wants to actively initiate something now, Dante can hardly complain.

He takes Nero's bottom lip between his teeth and nips gently just to test the water. He swears he hears the halfbreed purr against him. Just as things are starting to pick up some momentum, Nero pulls away.

"I got something for you," the younger man drawls.

Dante thinks he might not be getting blue-balled after all. He follows his little hellion to the kitchen and watches as Nero pulls something out of the oven with his weird, flickery, devil arm. It's a pizza, covered in pepperoni and drowned in golden, melty cheese. While it's not sex good on any level, it's pizza; and that's pretty damn close.

"You were asleep when I picked it up so I thought I'd have it ready for you when you woke up." It's probably one of the more thoughtful things Nero's done for Dante and man does it look amazing, but the smell of the disinfectant coming from literally everywhere along with his foggy head kind of ruins his appetite.

"Listen kid, this is super nice," he says to Nero who's absolutely beaming. "But I'm not feeling all that great so I think I'll hold off for a little while." Dante watches as his face falls from adoration to sadness, then to anger.

"You probably don't feel good cause you haven't eaten anything." Nero says in voice void of any real concern.

"Maybe. I think it would make more sense to eat this when I know I can really enjoy it though. Would you really want me to puke up your nice surprise?" Dante thinks that's a reasonable argument.

The smaller halfbreed looks like he's getting ready to say something acidic when the phone rings. Dante slips out from under his grilling gaze and answers it.

"Devil May Cry, this is Dante." He greets automatically. The voice on the other end of the line gives the password and now he's taking out a sticky note and a pen to write down information. The client is an old lady living by herself on the outskirts of the city. She tells Dante that there was a bit of an incident last night involving an old house rumored to be haunted. She makes it very clear that she's willing to pay whatever to make sure that whatever "nasties" are nesting up in that house don't come anywhere near her or her grandson.

"I'm enlisting your help as a favor to myself and the other families living in the neighborhood," she says.

"I'll be over as soon as I can to check it out, Ma'am." Dante assures her before hanging up. This is perfect timing. Maybe by the time he returns Nero will have let the whole pizza rejection thing go.

"What was that about?"

"Guess some kids went to get shitfaced in an old house and got spooked by some noises coming from the basement."

The younger halfbreed's face hardens.

"What's the address?"

"Looks like a 62 Dorothy Diebold." Dante reads from his sticky note.

"Forget about it, I'm sure it's nothing," but Nero's voice sounds strained. The flickering light in his arm is speeding up until it looks more like it's vibrating.

"Well then I'll be getting paid for doing nothing." Dante is already making his way upstairs to get suited up. He's made aware that Nero is following him by the heavy footfalls sounding close behind.

"Yeah but why waste your energy? You say you don't feel well."

The elder devil switches out his pajama bottoms for his red leather pants and chaps. He neglects to put a shirt on under his coat.

"Because sick or not, I'm running a business here and besides, money makes me feel better." The ifs and buts keep rolling behind him as he ponders over which weapons he wants to take with him. The whole surprise kissing thing and the pizza were cool but now Nero's starting to annoy him. He holsters Ebony and Ivory and slings Rebellion over his back before breezing past the kid who's still standing in the doorway.

"Dante, I'm asking you not to go."

"And I'm asking you to leave it alone."

Nero rushes past to block the entrance to Devil May Cry. What the fuck is up with this kid.

"Please don't make me do something we'll both regret." He warns, face devoid of amusement.

Nero doesn't move. With a sharp sound of frustration the larger halfbreed cocks Ebony and shoots. A shell casing clacks against the floor and rolls. Only real bullets this time, so he knows his roommate will be fine but he hopes the pain is enough to get him to piss off for a while. He watches as Nero staggers back, sheds the bullets and roars.

"You are proving to be far more trouble than you're worth, Dante." He says in a voice that definitely does not belong to Nero. "I wanted to do this the easy way but you're ruining everything."

This is not Nero, Dante thinks as a snarl rips from the kid's throat.

This is not Nero, Dante thinks as the skin around the creature's bullet wound reels back and oozes a slimy discharge.

This is not Nero, Dante realizes in a panic as the devil arm morphs into a thick black appendage covered in sinewy muscle and the clothes that look so much like Nero's shred with a sharp sound and fall away. There is a demon inside Devil May Cry and it's huge and Dante never once smelled it or sensed its presence.

What clarity he does have screams at him to fight and he does, popping bullets into the monster with one arm as he unsheathes Rebellion in the other. He is dodging and parrying his way backwards until he's at the base of the stairs. With feline grace he leaps onto the banister and scrambles up as far as he can go. The demon roars and swipes with a clawed hand and the railing blasts to pieces. Dante is sent skyward and uses gravity to fuel his swing as he comes down, blade angled, and gritting his teeth.

Rebellion sinks into an eye socket an there's this ear splitting wail as the demonic imposter scrabbles to remove it. Dante is balancing on its snout trying to pull his weapon out but it's stuck in a thick layer of skull and brain matter. With one last tug, he almost has it but a forked, black tail smashes into him and Dante as well as Rebellion are shot through one of the high-arched windows of Devil May Cry.

He lands hard with a grunt. He's picking himself up and brushing glass shards out of the tears in his pants when he sees dried blood splatter on the ground before him. A bullet casing rests glinting in the sunlight close by. The path up to the steps looks disturbed, with two long ruts running across the stones. Nero, Dante thinks and he realizes how dire this situation probably is. This demon, now busting through the doors to meet the devil hunter, is not Nero. So where is he then?

An intense feeling of guilt reels through him as he reflects on the fact that he let this thing slip by unnoticed and meanwhile the kid could be rotting away somewhere. Like in a basement. In an abandoned house on the outskirts of the city.

The demon snarls, bringing Dante back to the task at hand. It's left eye is shut and weeping a black sludge.

With the fury of a man half-possessed Dante slides between the demons legs, slicing Rebellion cleanly through the exposed flesh. Blood and entrails spill onto the ground and the creature collapses on top of itself.

"There is a price on your head, Dante." It hisses furiously. "I won't be the last to come to take it."

"Thanks for the heads up," Dante says darkly. He heaves his sword over his head and stuffs it into the fleshy throat of the devil. It immediately begins to sputter and steam as the hellish decomposition process begins. Meanwhile, the halfbreed runs inside, grabs the note that still sat on his desktop and turns on his heels to leave. Something shiny catches his eye amidst the smoking remains on the steps outside. Dante picks it up with his thumb and forefinger. It's a key, he observes. He stuffs it into his pocket in case he finds a need for it later and rushes to his car. Dante doubts that thing swallowed it for shits and giggles.

62 Dorothy Diebold is his only lead to Nero and he's not sure how much time he has- if he's not already too late.


	3. Exhumed

**"We pack demolition, we can't pack emotion**

**Dynamite? We just might...**

**So blow us a kiss, blow us a kiss**

**Blow us a kiss, we'll blow you to pieces"**

**-Marilyn Manson**

Nero is watching himself fasten a chain to the ceiling. It glints dully in the dim light filtering in from somewhere nearby. The metal swings a bit and there's a corresponding tug on his human wrist. He has a possessing urge to fall asleep, pressed against the cold stone all around him but he keep his eyes open because he's worried he won't wake up again if they close.

"You know, you're quite resilient for a corpse." He hears his own voice say. "Perhaps I haven't given you enough credit."

His mirror image looks at him sourly. Its devil bringer, matching his own gives off a faltering glow. Nero wonders how much effort it takes to keep it lit like that. Clearly the false is struggling a bit.

"What are you?" he croaks though his mouth is dry and his throat is burning.

"Why, I'm you of course, Nero. For now, anyway."

He wants to say something, ask a question, make a witty rebuttal about how remakes are never quite as good as the original but he feels like he's swallowing razor blades.

The copy is walking towards the light that casts shadows all over the dank room.

"I think it's time for me to pay our dear friend Dante a visit ...and take his head." The dark chuckle that follows doesn't sound anything like him.

A low groan echoes through the room and then the light is gone and Nero is alone.

The only sound is Nero's own labored breathing and the occasional drip of water out of a pipe in the ceiling. With no windows to asses the position of the sun in the sky, he's already lost track of how long he's been down here- wherever that is, exactly.

He feels the dull weight of the metal cuffs on his wrists, each with a chain tethered somewhere above him. They're long enough that he can place his palms flat on the stone beneath him, which he does to center himself and keep the dizziness in his head at bay.

There's a pronged collar fastened at the the top of his throat, just below his jawbone. Its chain is much shorter and Nero can hardly move his head without it boring into his skin.

A slice above his eyebrow throbs though the trail of blood running down his has has since dried. The worst pain, however, radiates outward from the blast in his abdomen. Unable to trigger and heal in this state, he can feel the bullet festering in his muscle tissue.

He knows hexed bullets like these don't go deep because they don't exist to pierce; they exist to poison and rot from the inside. He's sure Dante told him something along those lines once upon a time.

Bile climbs his esophagus again and he turns his head to the side and pukes. After a third time though, all he's tossing up is blood. The collar digs into the side of his neck and warmth runs down in rivulets into the fabric of his jacket.

Nero sits there, listlessly for what seems like an eternity before he swears he can hear movement above him. Three sets of footsteps, to be exact, one of which scuffs the ground with its heel. The halfbreed thinks for a moment that they might be the demon's cronies coming to finish him off but they smell human. Not that his sense of smell is at its best in his condition, but his devil arm doesn't lie and it's only giving off this pitiful, faint glow.

There's muffled laughter and two male voices going back and forth. Then the sound of glass clinking together. He can't hear what they're saying but they sound young. No older than Nero, at least. The third voice is shrill and feminine and Nero is suddenly reminded of Kyrie.

He remembers how her voice always sounded like a bell tinkling. Then he thinks of her face and how it crumbled to dust when he told her that he couldn't give her what she wanted. He'd loved her- he wouldn't have gone to all the trouble to save her if he hadn't after all. But the love he felt for her was like that of a sibling and she wanted more. So Nero had left and found Dante.

Dante.

Stupid, fucking infuriating Dante who'd given him a home and a job no questions asked. He made Nero feel like he had a purpose, like he belonged for once.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Kid. I have a thing for you. I've had it for a while now." He'd said it like it was the easiest thing in the world. Nero's blood had boiled that day because here was Dante, breezing through a confession while Nero had spent countless night staring up from the couch at the ceiling, trying to come to terms with the fact that he probably loves his halfbreed roommate.

He seems so far away now.

Bitter tears burn in Nero's eyes.

How pathetic it would be for Nero to die here, chained up and covered in his own blood. Trapped in this musty hell hole with a bunch of teenagers getting wasted over his head. This is not how Nero wants to be remembered. This is not how Nero chooses to die.

The bands on his wrists are too tight to slip out of even if he were to dislocate his thumbs. He knows if he's ever going to free himself, he'll have to break through the metal.

The hybrid draws back his devil arm, fist clenched tight. He grunts sharply as his knuckles glance off the metal and connect, instead with his human hand. Pain hums under his skin but he ignores it. He tries again but still, tough scales meet soft flesh and he roars in frustration and agony.

Glass smashes against the floor above.

He knows he _has_ to break this cuff- his freedom depends on it. So he does it again, and again, and again, his collar biting holes into his flesh with each flex of a neck muscle. He does it again, until there are hot tears boiling from his eyes and he's certain that at least three of his fingers are very broken.

Over his ragged panting, the half-devil hears the voices upstairs hush to frantic whispers.

"I'm down here," he tries to yell to them but his own voice is hardly more than a strained whimper.

The metal cuff is only beginning to feel tighter on his left wrist as his hand swells.

Nero accepts gravely that he won't be able to smash himself loose in his condition and all he's doing is wasting energy. He slumps against the cold stone wall and lets the dread of defeat wash over him as terrified footsteps retreat above him.

The setting sun is plummeting behind dark thunder heads when Dante roars into the overgrown driveway of 62 Dorothy Diebold. The house itself looks like a mausoleum, drained of color, and caving in towards the center. It's covered in graffiti- _Tabor wuz here! fuck you faggot. GOD IS DEAD._ It says. Most of the windows are cracked and some of them have been smashed in completely.

Dante isn't sure of what he'll find inside but he doesn't have any more time to waste thinking about it. With his weapons strapped in, he makes his way in.

The floor is hardly visible underneath papers, shoes, and empty beer bottles. A Ouija board lays dejected in a corner, it's matching planchette rests over _Goodbye_. A dead rat decomposes at the base of a staircase with three steps left intact. The rest have been stomped in and smashed to pieces.

The devil hunter is looking around for a door or a false bit of flooring that will lead him to the basement when he smells something familiar. His senses are only just starting to return to him since he's distanced himself from the overwhelming scent of cleaning supplies (which he realizes was meant to mask the demon-smell of the fake Nero) back at the office and the timely digestion of that tampered-with pizza (honestly, is nothing sacred?).

Finally, his boot sinks a bit on a wooden board and immediately he's on his knees clawing at it. Blunt nails find purchase and a square shaped bit of floor reveals a dark opening that he might just be able to squeeze himself through.

He's immediately slapped across the face by the cloying smell of blood- thick and coppery. His own arteries turn icy at what he's pretty sure he's about to see but he descends anyway.

The basement ceiling is low enough that Dante has to bend his head forward a tiny bit to be able to stand. There isn't anything here though except for a pair of fold-up tables and a hunched-over body pressed against the wall.

Oh, _fuck_.

The white hair is illuminated by the infiltrating light and Dante knows it's Nero. The real one.

"Fuck, oh _no_. No... _Nero_." It doesn't really register that it's him saying it as he goes over to the younger halfbreed. He's just looking at the kid whose eyes are open but they're glassy. His wrists, cradled in his lap, are chained to the ceiling with separate metal braces. There's a collar around his neck with spikes nestled into raw skin. One white eyebrow is blackened with dried blood. Dante sees red everywhere and it's hard to differentiate between what's blood and what's Nero's jacket.

He feels ill once he sees Nero's hand. It's almost purple and horribly bloated. The metal rings on his first and third fingers are violently choking the skin around his knuckles. He's breathing, thankfully, but it's shallow and ragged.

Cloudy blue eyes search him for a moment. "Dante..." Nero wheezes through bloodied lips. "I'm... dreaming?"

"No, no, Kid. I'm here, you're here." Dante doesn't know where to start as he looks at the broken body before him. "Stay with me okay?"

He remembers the key that he looted from the demon.

Spurred by a surge of boiling emotions, he digs the key out and starts working at getting the cuffs off. If there were ever a time when Dante could cry or scream or both, it's now as he frees Nero's hands and they just fall limp onto the ground. He wants to trigger- to breathe life back into that demon just so he can kill it again. The collar falls to the floor and still there's no reaction; no breath of relief. The elder hunter feels himself getting hot in this cellar; his blood is beating underneath his skin and he wants to let the devil inside of him take over and set himself loose on the next living thing that looks at him or at Nero wrong.

Nero. Concentrate.

"I know you got shot," Dante says, focusing his energy into looking for the entry wound. "I need you to show me, or tell me where it is."

"Sleep..." Nero offers meekly, his heavy eyelids fluttering.

"No. You can sleep later." Dante's voice has taken on a dark edge. The urge to protect and to fight is churning his guts. Right now though, he has to focus on healing. Nero's slipping away fast and there won't be anything for him to protect pretty soon.

The devil bringer shakes as it comes to rest on Nero's stomach. It's the best hint the kid can manage.

Dante hauls the younger halfbreed's enervated body onto his lap and cradles him carefully in his arms. He's getting blood all over his coat and pants but that is the farthest worry from his mind.

Nero's eyes look far away but he blinks every so often. As carefully as he can manage, the elder hunter opens the tattered blue coat. There's no sense in unzipping his jacket as the zipper's been blasted apart by the shot so he does his best to peel the fabric off the wound. Dante's certain it hurts like hell because it's begun to scab over with the skin at the edges of the entry wound so as he pulls, he's reopening it. Nero doesn't move though, and he doesn't speak. He blinks and tear rolls down his blanched skin, but nothing more.

"This is gonna hurt," he says though he knows the kid's not listening. And even if he was, he's clearly already in excruciating misery so it wouldn't really make much of a difference. The larger half-devil is just hoping that maybe his voice will keep Nero's consciousness rooted here.

Dante clenches his jaw, face taut, and reaches into Nero's wound to fish for the bullet. There's no reaction other than those distant eyes rolling into the back of his head and for a second Dante freezes, thinking he may have just killed him. But the body shudders beneath him and his eyes refocus on Dante's face. There's agony and fear in those eyes but it means he's feeling this, which means at least he's not dead.

Dante feels the soft muscle tissue flex weakly around his fingers. Soon, he finds what he's been looking for and strains to get a good grip on it. His digits emerge covered in Nero's blood and clutching a tiny black ball made up of knotted grooves and ruts. A demon bullet.

The smaller hybrid is too far gone to trigger, he decides, because Nero's still laying across Dante's lap looking too much like a corpse.

Making a quick decision he sinks his teeth into his own wrist and tears, hot blood spilling freely. He holds the dripping appendage over Nero's wound and lends some of his own demonic power to the half-devil in his arms.

"I swear I'll watch whatever fucking dumb movies you want, just please stay with me, Nero." He pleads, and his voice sounds thin.

* * *

Rain is battering the roof of Devil May Cry when Nero's eyes open. He stares up at an off-white ceiling and idly grips soft sheets in between bruised fingers. He's alive, by some miracle.

Said miracle, he sees, is slumped over the sheets fast asleep.

He clears his parched throat and sits up, wincing as his sore muscles strain with movement. He can breathe clearly without blood clogging his lungs now. He'd almost forgotten what that felt like.

The halfbreed is in the process of looking over his skin for leftover bruises and scarring when Dante stirs and lifts his head, white hair tousled.

"Hey," he says, and Nero thinks it might be the most important sound he's ever heard. Ignoring the protests of his joints he coils his arms around Dante's neck and pulls him into a crushing hug. He feels the elder devil's chest heave with laughter and a hand cradles the back of his head. "Sorry I took so long," But he's already been forgiven.

There's no longer a draft flowing through Devil May Cry. With the repairs to the window, the door, and the staircase, it finally looks the way it did before the nightmare swept through like a hurricane a week ago. Though Dante spent a solid three days whining and griping about how the contractor was clearly ripping him off, he was happy with the way things turned out.

Dante's stepping out of the bathroom, running a towel through his snowy hair when Nero hits the play button on the remote.

"So what's this one?" He asks, coming to take a seat next to the smaller half-devil.

"The Shining."

"Oh, nice. Hitchcock?" Dante slings an arm over Nero's shoulder and Nero leans into it.

"No, it's Stephen King."

"Right," He picks up his beer off the coffee table, where an open box of pizza sits, and takes a sip. He feels better now than he has in a long time.

But Dante knows this isn't the end. He remembers the demon's warning like it was hissed at him yesterday. As long as he's Sparda's son he'll be hunted and Nero's safety will undoubtedly be jeopardized again. He's ready for it now, though. And Nero is here, breathing and still being difficult when it suits him.

Dante couldn't ask for anything else.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I had a blast writing this, and I couldn't have done it without all the support. :) See you next time!


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